Member-only story
Why Time Doesn’t Exist
At least, not the way you think it does.
Time is a story we tell ourselves.
Because we see ourselves as things, when what we are at the most fundamental level is a process. When you separate yourself from everything around you, drawing a mental Maginot line between ‘me’ and ‘that’, it’s inevitable that you’ll start to believe in cause and effect, in endings and beginnings. In time.
Our minds race from past to future and back again, checking in only briefly on the present before racing off to the next thought, the next dream or goal or memory. It’s never now. It’s always last year or next week.
But this is not the only story we can tell each other. In fact, some physicists maintain that time may not even exist. So while we’re telling stories…
She stood on the platform with gratuitous light playing golden fingers through her hair. Her pupils were large and dark, always, even in that bright train station light meant to turn away perverts and thieves. The sky was clear, the darkness as bare and blank as the center of her eyes, the stars scared off by the city that lay restless below. They studied the map. You know the type. Stylized stations as colorful dots laid out on lines as straight as a spiderweb, uncluttered by topography, ignorant of direction. The…
